


A Tight Spot

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Claustrophobia, F/M, Fluff, Mild Gore, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine that the reader has been helping Sam and Dean on the hunt for a nasty spirit that torments its victims with their worst fears. Reader and Dean have been experiencing feelings for one another and when the reader is kidnapped by the spirit, Dean goes crazy trying to find her before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tight Spot

"I hate this case already," You groaned as you descended the stairs of the abandoned warehouse.

You had already cleared the first floor. The dilapidated building had held nothing but some old, rusted shelving units full of car parts and three junk heaps of what had once been cars. Plastic sheeting had covered the windows' glass. The dark stuff had blocked a lot of the light from outside. Not that there was much light, anyway. It'd been pouring rain all day. The roof had some leaks and a few of the windows had been smashed at some point.

Whenever the wind whistled through or a drop of water plopped onto something metal you jumped. The place gave you the creeps. There'd been a door, its hinges orange with rust, in one of the far corners. The lock had given way under the first blow from your boot. The knob turned with a reluctant squeak. Your hand came away dirty with something brown and flaky. Something rustled behind you and you whirled, shotgun up and finger at the trigger. Dean had pressed the gun into your hands before you had split up this morning.

" _You know how to work this, right, Y/N_?" His green eyes had bored into your's.

" _Yes, Dean. I've used a shotgun before_." You hated the feeling his question had given you.

That insecure thought that he might find you just a little dim in the brain box. Dean had given you a handful of extra rock salt rounds which you had promptly pocketed. Before you had split away from the boys, Dean had stopped you by the simple expedient of touching your arm.

" _Keep your eyes open, Y/N. You call if you think you've got something_." You could have sworn that there had been an undercurrent of worry in his words. You had shaken it off. The only person Dean worried about was Sam.

The rustling came again and you jerked, eyes darting. Plastic sheeting billowed in the wind from outside. You lowered the gun. _Stupid_ , you thought, _it's just the wind_. And now you were halfway down the stairs, tiny penlight your only source of light in the dark tunnel.

You swallowed as your mind began to whirl. For a hunter, you were afraid of some of the most ridiculous things. The dark filled your mind with chaotic fear and small places had you shaking in your boots. Hell, even after an hour car ride you had to take a minute to chill out. The fact that the tunnel was darker than a stack of black cats was not helping your concentration. Your fingers skimmed over the cell phone in your pocket. The temptation to call Dean or Sam to help you out washed over you. With an irritable mutter, you withdrew your hand.

The stairs gave way to a long hallway. The beam of your flashlight bounced around. The walls were green and murky-looking, covered with what looked like mold and moss. Water made them and the floor shiny. It leaked from somewhere above and dripped monotonously into shallow puddles. You strode forward, shotgun clasped tight in your hand and penlight swinging between your fingers. It was colder down here than it had been upstairs, you realized, wiggling your toes in your boots. There were little doors that branched off from the hallway you walked down. Each room, upon inspection, proved to be completely empty. You were nearing the very end of the hall, finally. Just a few more doors... You peered into the doorway on your right, light flickering around the corner.

That was when it happened.

Your back was suddenly frozen with cold as you were shoved forward. Your head collided with wet stone and your penlight fell from your fingers. Pain flared behind your eyes as you slumped against the wall.

It was still cold, you realized when you came to.

You winced and groaned softly at the aching throb by your temples. You raised your hand to rub at the knot. Cold, wet stone brushed against your knuckles. Your elbow grazed the wall. Very carefully, you tried to twist around to find your light. The space was too small to turn or crouch in. You couldn't even raise your arms without hitting the walls. You could feel your breath bouncing off the surface in front of you.

"Oh, God." Your voice was thin with growing terror. Your heart began to race as your breath sawed in your lungs.

"Ooh, God. No, no, no." Over your mounting fear, you tried to think rationally and calmly.

The darkness wasn't helping your state. Your hands shook as you reached for your pockets. Please let the phone be there, please, please, please. Cool plastic brushed against your fingers and you sobbed with relief. The screen lit up the space. Dean was number one on your speed-dial. The sound of ringing filled the tiny space as you stabbed at the speaker-phone button.

"Hello?" Dean's deep voice had you crying out.

"Dean! Please, please, you have to come get me. It's got me! The room is so small, I can't see. It's so dark. I can't breathe-" The words erupted as a jumbled mess of swelling panic.

"Y/N? What's going on? Where are you?"

You could hear Sam's voice in the background faintly.

"I-I don't know. I was casing the w-warehouse and the basement. It pushed me and I h-hit my head. Now I'm stuck in here. I can't-" The word drew out into a petrified moan. Your heart felt like it was going to fly out of your chest.

"Okay. Sam and I are on our way. We'll get there as fast as we can. Deep breaths, Y/N." His voice faded into the back of your ears as the light from your phone caught on something in the wall in front of you.

Was that- "Oh, no. Oh, God, no." It was a human nail, ragged and torn, embedded in the concrete. Long furrows of chipped stone had been etched into the wall. Dark splotches were splattered in some spots. A scream bubbled up in your throat.

"Y/N! What's going on? Are you hurt? Y/N!"

The phone chirped sadly and the light died along with Dean's voice. Dead battery.

 

 

 

Dean re-dialed the number Y/N had given him. The call dumped into voice mail. He cursed and jumped into his car.

"She's not picking up."

Sam picked up his shovel and the bag that contained the salt, gasoline, and lighter. "She could be anywhere. For all we know, the spirit could have brought her somewhere we haven't found yet."

"She was _terrified_ , Sam. You didn't hear her scream...I gotta find her." Dean swallowed thickly.

The Impala screeched out of the cemetery's drive, causing gravel to fly up.

The warehouse's door was wide open when Dean got there. The first floor was devoid of life. Half-dried footprints lead them to a rusted door at the far end of the building. Dean halted at the threshold and cocked his gun. The air was frigid as he descended the stairs, his phone pressed to his ear.

"Dean," Sam's voice was ragged as he panted on the other line. "I'm almost done."

Something hissed wetly in the darkness and Dean spun, firing. There was a furious yowl and then silence.

Dean reloaded quickly. "Hurry up, Sam."

Something icy slammed into Dean's back and he fell forward, head cracking against the wet concrete. He blinked away the pain and flipped himself over just as the spirit launched itself at him. Sharp fingers dug at his skin and cold breath that reeked of rot gusted over his face.

"Ugh," Dean grunted as he swung up the shotgun and blasted off another round.

The spirit fell back before stumbling to its feet, eyes blazing with hungry intent and hatred. Dean muscled to his feet and cocked the gun. Fire curled at the spirit's feet suddenly. It screamed as the bright light consumed it, writhing and twisting. Then, it was gone and there was silence.

Dean shook his head sharply and began moving down the hall, shouting for Y/N. When he exited the next room, he spotted the shotgun he had given Y/N lying in pieces beside a tiny door.

The slab of concrete was secured with a series of metal locks and hinges. Dean unlatched them easily enough and braced his boots as he pulled on the heavy handle. Slowly, the slab scraped forward over the floor. The interior of the door was furrowed with long scratches and old blood streaked it in some places. And the shiny scarlet of new blood. Dean ducked his head and shoulders into the tiny space and let his flashlight beam bounce around. Y/N's was pale, lips parted around shallow gasps. Her Y/C/H was wet with sweat and a nasty bruise was swelling at her temple. Dean wrapped his arms tight around her shoulders and lifted you up against his chest.

 

 

 

"Y/N? Come on, I know you can hear me, beautiful. Open those eyes." The voice was familiar and soothed your ragged nerves.

Your chest expanded as you gulped in fresh air. Carefully, slowly, you pried your eyelids apart, blinking at the light. A tanned, freckled face with bright green eyes hovered over your's.

"Dean," His name left your lips on a raspy breath.

"Yeah, that's right." Memories flooded back and you gasped, heart pounding again. Your fingers twisted and dug into the arms that held you.

"Shh, sh. I've got you, Y/N. You're safe." Dean's hands grabbed at your's. He flattened one of your palms on his stomach and then your other on your own belly. "Breathe, beautiful. Copy my breathing, okay? That's right. Slow and easy."

You shuddered, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to obey his commands. You concentrated better when you met his eyes and held them. Eventually, your chest stopped its heaving and you stopped shaking so much. You felt color creeping into your face as you realized that Dean was still holding you, one hand pressed over your's on your tummy and the other around your back. His body heat chased away the lingering chills.

"Better?" Dean's voice was pitched low and soft.

You nodded. "Thank you."

You drew your hand away from his stomach and hissed as your fingertips stung. The skin there was raw and bloody. You swallowed and shivered. Dean followed your gaze and reached for something behind himself. The sound of metal on metal rang out quietly. You cast your eyes around in an effort to distract yourself as Dean cleaned the wounds on your hands. The alcohol pads stung fiercely. You were sat on Dean's lap, you noticed, on the bed of the hotel room the Winchesters had been sharing since they arrived in town. Your jacket and flannel over-shirt were thrown over the chair in the corner. A rough blanket abraded the bare skin of your shoulders where your tank top didn't quite cover. Dean set your hands away and lifted his fingers to your face. You hissed, wincing as he examined the knot at your temples. The alcohol wipe had you smacking at his hands as he ran it over the tiny cut.

"Ow!" You groused as he smoothed a bit of gauze and tape over the wound.

A tiny smile made his lips quirk up at the corners. His eyes lifted and met your's. For a minute, it was all you could do to keep your breathing even. Abruptly, you dropped your gaze and cleared your throat.

"Thanks. For coming to get me, I mean. I..I thought that I wasn't gonna make it out of there." You shuddered again. "It was like every one of my nightmares rolled into one terrifying reality. I couldn't think straight. And then, I thought of you and, well...Anyway. Thank you."

In the span of a heartbeat, Dean had you crushed to his chest. Your face buried in his neck. He smelled like cheap soap and leather and gun powder and you couldn't help it when your fingers curled into his back.

The two of you stayed that way for a long time. Dean's cheek was pressed against your ear and his arms tight around you. His hands rubbed up and down your back and he rocked slightly from side to side. "Y/N," It was a whisper that caught in his throat.

And you knew. You knew that you weren't the only one who had feelings here.

You knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so, I'm not completely happy with this one. But, it is a world better than what I started with. I think I started over twice when I was writing this one. Leave some feedback, kiddos!


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